


Moonrise Valley

by TheDameintheRaininMaine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, F/M, Gen, Hidden Village, Magic School, World War II, he's only part non human, jewish heroine, mild human/non human romance, occasional non-human characters, rural northern England setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDameintheRaininMaine/pseuds/TheDameintheRaininMaine
Summary: Fourteen year old Elsa Green wasn't quite sure what to expect when she was evacuated from London in 1940 during the dawn of the war.Being sent to live on a farm she could have expected. Making new friends and missing home she could have expected.She did not expect that the village where she is sent contained the last all-girls witch school in England. She did not expect to learn that magic was in fact a real thing.And she does not know how to handle that no one in Moonrise Valley seems to be worried about the war at all.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Elsa was fourteen the day she left London. She chose to wear her stockings so she wouldn’t need to pack them, with socks over them. The skirt she wore was a bit long. She was only of average height, but mum still insisted she might grow into it. The blouse and pullover were well worn.

Mum hollered through the flat that she was going to be late. 

The small suitcase she carried held most of her necessary items. Her pyjamas, underclothes. A spare pullover and skirt, and somewhat nice and somewhat too small dress. Toothbrush, soap, comb. Her gas mask.

Elsa had a peculiar interest in wireless technology, and the crystal set she had saved up her pocket money for had been loaded into a knapsack along with her other belongings, was likely the reason that she nearly missed the train that May morning. 

She kissed Mum goodbye. 

“You know the way?”

Elsa nodded. The railway station was barely two streets from the flat. 

She walked downstairs and plunked a hat on top of her dark curls. The ends were freshly clipped, and she was pleased that at least she didn’t need to bring curlers. Not that it mattered. Her hair did what it wanted regardless of her input. 

She nodded her head at Dad, sweeping behind the counter. She scans her eyes over the barrels and baskets. Dad was a greengrocer, and for the past months the shop had been in a sorry state. Fruits and vegetables weren’t parts of the government’s new rationing plan, but since so many came from overseas, they were often hard to get. Last week you couldn’t get your hands on an onion for love or money. The week before there had been apples that were gone within two hours. With this knowledge, Elsa sneaks a plum. 

Elsa stops at the door and waves again to Dad, and Jimmy, the boy who brought in the crates. Jimmy waved back. Elsa feels her heart twinge. Mum and dad loved her, that was for certain, but they were never an affectionate family. They both said they trusted her, and she treasured the freedom this afforded her, but she still wishes she didn’t have to walk to the station alone. 

She wrapped her coat tightly around her. Even in May, the London railway station was chilly in the very early morning. It was barely 6, and the sun was yet to show itself. The name tag pinned neatly to the front bore her name; Elsa Green, her departing station, London and her destination, Moonrise Valley, Lancashire.

The wireless set was nestled in her knapsack, wrapped in a couple of spare blouses and protected on all sides by her books. 

Mum had given her a terrible time about the books. 

“You’re being evacuated because of the war, not going on holiday,” she had scolded. 

Mum prided herself on keeping up with all current going-ons in the world. She read three newspapers daily, and while she didn’t share her daughters interest in the waves and wires, the wireless set in the kitchen was on from breakfast until bedtime. 

Elsa had considered herself lucky to avoid having been evacuated last September. She still remembers seeing the lines of children marching down the street towards the rail station, she could see them on the street from her bedroom window. So many had returned, since there had been no hint of war, despite the civil defense sirens and rationing and conscription.

Elsa couldn’t even pretend the war was phony, what with Fred and Thomas in the RAF. They both lived in the boarding house next door having come to London last year on their own. Elsa suspects they might have regretted leaving their family, especially now that they would be ever farther away from them. 

But then Mum had heard of the invasion of France, and Aunt Helen had said from where she lived in Devon that they could see the dogfights over the water starting, and barely two days later, Elsa had been told to pack up and leave.

This morning she leaves, Elsa supposes her teachers must be right, she was sensible. She barely even gave herself time to be lonely or frightened. When she reached the station, she found the woman with the WVS sign and pamphlet and gave her her name before going on her way.

The train was crowded, but not overly so. Tickets were harder to get now what with all the pleas to travel only when necessary. There were other children on the train too, young ones crying as they left their mothers on the platform. Elsa averted her eyes, as though hers might begin to water as well. 

Elsa managed to find a compartment with enough empty space to lay her suitcase and knapsack on the seat beside her. The other occupants, older people mostly, paid her no mind, noses buried in newsprint. 

Elsa hears the whistle and feels the roll of the train wheels underneath her. She stares out the window. Her route was going north, that was all she knew. She’d barely been out of London before, it was queer as the fog began to give way, to a clear spring sky. 

With a sigh, Elsa removed the latest copy of Tales of Wonder she had stashed on top of her knapsack. It was far earlier than she was usually up, and she yawned, suspecting she might doze off before the train reached its destination. 

After an indeterminable amount of time, she sighs and puts the magazine aside. She’d read the same paragraph from the story over and over again, and it still wasn’t sinking in. She rolls it back up and stuffs it back in her knapsack. 

She glances out the window as the train leaves London behind. She wonders about where she’s being sent. She’s never been to the north. The only time she’d been this far out of London was when they went to visit Aunt Helen. No one’s going to the seashore this year though. Aunt Helen had already spoken of watching the Royal Navy run landmines down the beaches where people used to picnic.

She wrinkles her nose as the last of the fog dissipates outside the city. She hopes this Moonrise Valley at least has better air than London. She thinks on her father’s cough, that often wracked him in the mornings. Mum had chided him, saying they should leave, go somewhere with better weather, but father was stubborn, saying he wouldn’t leave the shop to anyone not in the family. 

Better air, maybe some nice trees. 

Bored of Tales of Wonder, Elsa rummages, and pulls out Peter Pan instead. She chuckles when she finds her thumbs flipping to the same favorite parts they always did. Eventually, she closes it too, letting her head lull to one side and try to nap as she gazes out the window. Even if where she was going had mermaids and pirates, Elsa is very sure she would not want to stay a child forever right now. 

She had thought that maybe with all the young men enlisted, she would be able to persuade mum to let her get a job, at least until school started back up. If it did. So many schools in London had been closed because there weren’t enough teachers, and that prospect left Elsa deeply troubled. 

She was studious, and when she wasn’t studying, she had a terrible time being idle. The woman who ran the boarding house didn’t often want her hanging around, and much of it was empty now anyway. The table where Fred had helped her assemble the wireless and shown her how it worked was now empty of people and piled with bits of the Goldstein ladies WVS work.

Sometimes she offered to help dad out in the shop, but dad was nearly as tightly wound about things as she could be, and besides the increasingly long queues made Elsa nervous. Most often he just kicked her out, and she would make her way to the library, or to find a friend and they would ride bikes through the gardens and gawk at the fancy shop, or go to the cinema if they had enough money. Not that the cinemas were open now much, and even the fancy shop ladies seemed dour now. She’d even gotten too big for her bike and now had to take the tube.

She might have ended up in the WVS, like the ladies next door. They’d joined up even before Fred and Thomas had enlisted, but Elsa couldn’t picture herself spending her days knitting socks or rolling bandages. Her socks always turned out lumpy.

She thinks she might like the countryside, but when she tries to picture it, all she sees is empty space. She’ll have to find a way to fill it. Dad would tell her to make new friends. She’ll try. Sure she had friends, but never anyone terribly close. She wasn’t one of those girls who was always surrounded by a giggling group, and her interactions with boys were best left unspoken of. She soothes herself by thinking that maybe country children were different from ones from London. She’d heard adults often say that. 

She eats her lunch (the plum she took from the shop, and a precious chunk of increasingly hard to find cheese), before finally letting her thoughts go and drifting off. 

When she jolts awake, the train has come to a stop, and she hears the conductor yelling out her stop. She stands, feeling the plum pit fall. She leans to pick it up, but doesn’t see a bin, so she pockets it.

The train is nearly empty now, and when she steps off, Elsa realizes she’s the only child there, the only one even getting off at this station. She supposes not too many must be being sent north- Manchester was where all the factories were, people always said. She doesn’t know much of Lancashire, but from the hills outside the station, she guesses they must be somewhere in the Pennines. 

The train station is only a single platform. There’s not even a proper building, just a station agent in a box. The man inside even appears to be sleeping, and she knocks on the glass, making him jolt. 

“Excuse me,” she says, pointing at her sign on her neck, “I’m looking for the reception area? Moonrise Valley?”

The man coughs and adjusts his glasses, before pointing to the left. 

“About half a mile along the road to that ridge, and then down into the valley. First building you see will be the post office, they’ll take care of you.”

When Elsa turns to walk away, she sees the man go back to his paperwork, as though he hadn’t even seen her. 

The road is nothing but gravel, grass on either side just beginning to be bleached by the sun. The whole twenty minutes Elsa walks along it, knapsack on her back and suitcase in one hand, she doesn’t see another soul. 

When she sees the ridge, she spins around. Aside from the station in the distance, she sees nothing. No houses, no people, no vehicles. Even the heather barely moves in the distance, as there is very little wind today. 

Elsa steps carefully over the ledge, her heart lightening when she realizes the way down isn’t very steep. 

When she steps over it, it feels almost as if the world changes. The sun suddenly feels brighter, the breeze warmer. The heather here smells sweeter. 

The village in the distance looks like something out of a picture book. Clusters of picturesque houses, a market square, what look like several farms on the outskirts. And on the far side of the valley, a huge country estate. She can see people moving about, as if ants from above. Feeling her heart lift, she picks up her pace and continues down the road, moving so fast she stumbles.

The post office is a squat, brick building not too far away. Elsa pauses to shift her bags, before pushing open the front door to the sound of the bell making it’s “ding”. 

The boy at the counter barely looks up from his paper. 

“Mr. Donner hasn’t made it back yet.”

Elsa coughs and the boy looks up. She’s surprised to note he’s only a little older than herself, wearing a flat cap over his reddish hair. When he notices her, he stands up quickly, his foot catching the edge of his chair and making him yelp. 

“Sorry,” Elsa says, feeling the need to try and diffuse the situation “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be.”

The boy turns around and yells “Mam!” over his shoulder. A minute later, a small woman who looks just like him comes out holding a box of papers. 

“Mr. Donner can’t be back this early can he?” she asks the boy, before noticing Elsa.

“Oh!” she exclaims, “Do you know how you found yourself here, love?”

The boy nudges his mother, and points at her tag. 

“She came from London, like the last one.”

The woman pauses, before nodding. She begins to rummage around on the desk looking for something.

“Afraid I must have forgotten they’d said they’d take another. It was such a scene when the first one showed up-” 

First one? Elsa thought.

“Lady Sylvia made such a fuss, as she’s want to do, though I suppose it’s her business…”

Elsa has a dozen questions all of a sudden, but her throat feels dry. This whole situation feels very strange and she can’t put her finger on why. 

“Here it is,” the woman says, pulling out a sheet of paper, “I’ll go and call them.”

Once she leaves, Elsa turns to the boy. 

“So umm,” she starts, “What’s your name?”

His ears turn pink. There’s something odd about his ears, but Elsa can’t quite put her finger on it. 

“Liam Murphy,” he starts, “My mam’s Tessa Murphy. Most folks around here just call her Tess, she won’t take offense.”

“Oh,” Elsa says, uncomfortable at the thought of calling a grown lady by her first name. She clears her throat again. 

“I’m Elsa Green” she tells him. 

Liam looks at her again, reading her name tag. She reaches up to unpin it, supposing she won’t be needing it anymore. 

“Are there really bombs falling from the sky?”

Elsa blinks in shock. 

“N-not yet,” she stammers, “But Germany already invaded France, and that’s not so far away. They have planes that can just fly over a city and bomb it from the air!”

Liam nods, but doesn’t seem to really grasp what she’s saying. How? Elsa wonders, how could he have not heard that the country was at war? 

Her thoughts are interrupted when Tessa returns. 

“The Granger’s are dealing with a stuck lamb, they can’t get down here for an hour or so. I suppose the girl will have to stay here for a while.”

Elsa feels herself becoming very indignant. She expected this day to be a trial, but so little makes sense. Her objections are drowned out when Liam interjects. 

“I can walk her down to the Granger’s place, Anine should be there still until they get back. Might help to ease her in.”

He’s jumped up and almost at the door, which his mum seems to notice. 

“Don’t go thinking you can shirk your work for today, you’ll stay at that desk until you finish.”

But she swats at his back with one hand and shoos them out the door. On the way out, they pass an older man in a bowler hat on a bicycle and carrying a bag. 

“That’s Mr. Donner,” Liam said before she could ask, “He carries our mail over the valley and everyone walks up to the office to pick it up.”

That seems rather old fashioned, Elsa thinks, but this area is quite small. 

Liam leads the way out of the post office, down the road heading to the left side of the valley. The road isn’t too steep, but Elsa still finds herself stepping carefully. Her sensible shoes weren’t exactly meant for country walking.

“Sorry about Mam,” Liam said, “she’s just been busy lately. School’s letting out, so all the students need to make arrangements to wink back home, and that falls on us.”

“There’s a school here?” Elsa asks, her interest suddenly piqued. 

Liam turns to face her and nods. He keeps on walking backwards down the hill with ease. 

“Best girls academy in Europe, we’ve got witches in training coming all the way from Austria-”

Elsa stops short and stares. 

“Witches?”

Liam tilts his head. His cap slips a bit, and it finally hits her. His ears are pointed. 

“Where do the witches in London go to study?”

Elsa is tongue tied for several moments. 

“As-as far as I knew, witches aren’t real, they’re only from stories.”

“Huh,” is Liam’s response, which seems rather mild to her. “Suppose things really are different out there.”

Elsa’s stomach begins to churn. She has a million and one questions to ask, but doesn’t have a single idea where to start. She looks closer at his ears and wants to ask about that too, but rather than confusion, she feels she ought to leave that alone. 

She reaches out and tries so hard for a subject to change to, but still ends up too close. 

“Are the people I’m staying with, are they witches too?”

Liam nods, 

“Course, they’re mostly farmers now. Mr. Granger still teaches up at the school, but it’s mostly making sure the youngest ones can read and count well enough.”

Well, that was encouraging. 

Liam keeps going. 

“They must have been the only ones who agreed to take in any evacuees. Day that government worker came by to try and get volunteers was so strange, Lady Sylvia had a horse about it, nearly as bad as she did the day they tried to come and install that thing that made horrible noises.”

Dimly, Elsa realizes he’s talking about the air raid sirens. 

The walk doesn’t take long, and after that, Liam’s fairly quiet. Elsa decides it’s best to keep it that way, stop herself from tying her tongue in knots again and becoming embarrassed. 

She stares off into the fields of heather. Further up the far side of the hill, there’s a patch of forest. She swears, for just a moment, that she sees a white figure on four legs bound off into it. Once it’s gone, Elsa shakes her head and turns back toward the road. 

The farm comes into view rather quickly. It’s not much to look at, a two story house made of gray stone, with a red roof and white windows and smoke coming from the chimney, and fields trailing behind it. When Liam opens the gate to let Elsa in, an old gray cat runs past her feet. 

“Try and make Annie trip again did you? Told you before she’s not going to leave just for that.”

He talks to the cat like he expects her to answer. And the way the cat stops and looks over its shoulder at him, Elsa almost thinks she might.

But she doesn’t, and continues down the lane, her tail held high.

“Annie’s the last evacuee who came here,” he explains, “Showed up all by herself, carpet bag bigger than she was. Terrified. She seems to have settled in well enough though.”

Liam knocks on the front door before pushing it open. 

“Did Misses Luz huff off again?” a voice asks from inside the house. 

“She sure did.”

Elsa steps inside and takes in the house. It’s small inside too, a table taking up most of the front room, and the rest of the space holding the kitchen. A white and red cloth covers the table, and upon it a mess of papers and books. The kitchen is bright, with the window open and the sun shining off the yellow painted walls. 

A figure moves back from one of the cabinets. It’s a girl, maybe twelve, with pale hair tied in two plaits. She’s wearing an old fashioned dress that’s too short for her, and she’s quite thin, but moves with assurance. 

“Oh!” she said, seeing Elsa, “Hello! I’m Annie, I’ll get the tea on.”

Well at least if this place has witches, it has tea too. 

“Are you staying Liam?”

“Might as well,” he said, sitting at one end of the table and gesturing for Elsa to do the same. “Mam will just have me sitting and handing out the post otherwise. “

“I’ve got a chicken pie in the oven for tea-” Annie starts. 

Elsa’s stomach roars to life. She hasn’t had a proper chicken pie in months, not since butter went on the ration and the lines at the butcher shop became endless. 

“It won’t be done for a while. We’ve got jam and bread.”

Even the jam and bread sounds lovely, it seems like it’s been a lifetime since lunch.

“Just a moment though, I have to have words with this boiler.”

She then bends, placing one knee on the floor, and opens the boiler door. 

“Oi! I said wake up you lazy bums!”

The fire seems to perk up. 

Elsa feels herself become light headed. She’s glad she sat down. This was going to be a very trying day indeed. 

Or, she thought back to the story paper in her bag, and thinking back to the figure she saw in the field, perhaps an adventure too.


	2. Chapter 2

The jam and bread is excellent, and the tea more than acceptable. While Elsa feels like the arrangement should be awkward, Annie does enough talking that it never gets the chance. 

“You’re from London too? What took you so long to get here then? Last year they packed the train full of me and seemingly every other child in the East End and sent us all off! I was so confused when I was the only one to arrive here!”

Oh, she’s from the East End, Elsa thinks. At least that explains her short dress and thin body. She’s never believed some of the cruel things she’s heard about the people who live there, but she’s seen enough to know how poorly off many were. 

“You were scared too,” Liam teases through his mouthful of bread. 

“Are they still sending the children away?”

Elsa frowns. 

“Most of the ones who left last year already came home. They’ll be leaving again though. Germany’s about to invade France.”

She doesn’t mention what’s been happening in Norway. Despite mum’s diligence, Elsa still can’t quite wrap her mind around it. 

Annie frowns. 

“Sort of hope I never have to go back. I like it here better and mum’s probably happier without me.”

Elsa bites her tongue. Annie’s words sound awful, but it’s not her place. 

“Are the Grangers nice people then?”

Annie nods enthusiastically. 

“Mrs Granger runs this whole farm herself, she’s shown me everything! Mr. Granger’s at the school most of the time, but he still talks to me. He says he’ll take me to the school sometime, once he can get me reading better.”

The idea of the witch school is one that’s been sticking in the back of Elsa’s mind this whole time. She can’t truly picture it. Do all of them wear black and pointy hats? She’s already seen one cat here, but it was an ordinary gray one that didn’t seem to be doing anyone’s bidding. 

“Do they-” Elsa tries to bite her tongue again and can’t help it, “Do they make you do all the work around here?”

She has a strange vision of Annie having come here and become Cinderella. 

“Oh no,” Annie replies, laughing. “There’s not too much that needs cleaning around here. You’ll see. And I like cooking, it’s so much easier here than at home. Wait until you get to see Mrs. Granger’s garden and the fields.”

Having emptied his tea cup, Liam stands and bids them farewell, donning his hat and shutting the door behind him. 

Elsa watches him go. 

“What bugs got him?”

Annie shrugs. 

“He hates having to spend all his time at the post office, but he’s not got other family here and most of the other children in the valley are students at the school.”

Elsa finishes up her bread, licking the last bits of jam from her thumb. She watches as Annie finishes up the preparation of the chicken pie and puts it in the oven. Elsa has to fight the urge to drool openly at the smell. 

“Have you never had chicken pie?” Annie asks her, setting her potholders down on top of the stove. Elsa nods.

“I haven’t had it in ages it seems. I know this is a farm, but don’t you have to deal with rationing here?”

Annie looks confused. 

“I’m not sure what that is.”

Elsa’s astonished. 

“They sent out the books with the stamps, you can’t buy anything without them. Bacon, butter, fat, sugar, meat....you can’t hardly bake anything at all with what they’ll give you in a week, neither my mum or I have even attempted pastry crust since it started. And even if it’s not rationed, you can’t always get it.”

Annie’s voice quiets when she sits at the table and sips at her own tea. 

“I remember our neighbor, Mr. Roberts, talking about when they rationed things in the last war, I guess it makes sense they would do it again. We could never afford much of that, so I think I could find a way to cook around it, but I’d rather be here.”

Elsa still wrinkles her nose.

“Didn’t your ration books come through the post?”

“You would have to ask Liam and Miss Murphy about that.”

Elsa stares down into her empty tea cup, trying to remember some of the things she had heard at the post office earlier. 

Annie jumps up again.

“I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”

Behind the kitchen is a small sitting room and a narrow closed door that Elsa recognizes as the loo, and she is grateful it’s at least inside. Also behind the kitchen begins a narrow staircase with a wrought iron rail. Elsa’s shoes cause squeaking noises with each step and she hopes she never has to sneak down them. 

There’s five doors at the top of the staircase, three in line,, and one at the end of the hall. 

“The first door’s mine-” Annie points at the furthest one to the right, door hanging open, “You can have the one in the middle.”

The middle room has huge windows. The curtains on them are pale yellow, letting through even more of the sunshine. The bed is a bit smaller than hers at home, but the coverlet is a cheery floral print. Elsa throws her bags down on the end. 

“I’ll come up and get you when Mr and Miss Granger get back.”

The first thing she does is finger the curtains. They’re such a nice, pale yellow, and the room is getting a great deal of sun for this time of day. They shouldn’t be there, she thinks. The windows should be blocked out, with curtains thick enough to block the light from even the tiniest candle. If they weren’t blacked out, planes might see them from the air. This had all been pounded into Elsa’s head, and even though it hasn’t even been a year, she could parrot this all back. 

It doesn’t take Elsa long to unpack. The drawers are empty, only a spider or two to shoo off. The nightstand becomes buried with her books, spilling off onto the floor.

There’s a small desk, and with both hands, she hauls the wireless onto it. She glances out the window, past the yellow curtains. She won’t be able to get reception here, she’ll have to get creative. 

Once she’s done, she goes to the window and gazes out. The upstairs window faces the woods in the distance, and the fork of the road that slopes downward heads into the village. Something prickles at the back of Elsa’s mind. She won’t have school here, at least not at first. Maybe Miss Granger will need her help on the farm. But Annie keeps saying there’s not much that needs doing...maybe she can explore the woods, if she has time. 

She’s in the middle of taking off her stockings and replacing them with just one pair of socks when Annie calls to her from the hallway. She scrambles down the staircase after the voice. 

The woman coming through the backdoor and talking to Annie is strikingly ordinary looking to Elsa. She’s perhaps thirty-five, and has red hair tied up under a kerchief. She wears a peach colored pullover and work trousers and heavy boots. Her face is covered in dust, which she is washing off in a basin by the door when Elsa makes it to the bottom of the stairs, revealing a pile of freckles. 

Elsa’s frozen on the bottom of the stairs when the woman turns and looks at her. 

“You must be Elsa, Annie said you were settling in alright.”

Several long moments pass before Elsa manages to squeak out, 

“Yes, thank you Miss Granger.”

The woman unties her kerchief and shakes out her hair. 

“There’s no need for formality, you can call me Agnes if you wish.”

Elsa’s voice stays squeaky. 

“I’m sorry- I think I’ll stick with calling you Miss Granger.”

Miss Granger laughs, her eyes crinkling, and Elsa feels the unease in her stomach begin to settle. 

“Just like Annie you are. Well come on, there’s chicken pie for tea.”

Annie pulls the pie, hot and steaming, out of the oven and shuts the door. Just as she’s setting the table, there’s an odd noise from outside the backdoor. 

“That’ll just be Peter winking back home from the school,” Miss Granger says, cutting into the pie and spooning a piece onto her plate, before doing the same with Elsa’s plate. Annie’s already seated and digging in. 

The door opens and a tall man wearing spectacles enters. He removes his hat, revealing black curls, and then his coat. 

“Hello, love,” Miss Granger calls out, “Drop your wand in the brolly stand if you want any of this pie before we have at it.”

Wand. There was another word that pricks at Elsa’s mind. She already has filed away “winking back home”. 

Mr. Granger kisses his wife on the head as she offers him the remaining piece of pie. He breathes deeply over his plate before sticking his fork in. 

“Love me a good chicken pie, good on you Annie,” he says, while Annie glows off to the side, most of her pie already eaten. 

Peter turns to Elsa, his eyes not unkind. 

“Don’t believe I know your name yet? I suppose the train brought you in today, I hope the walk from the post office wasn’t too bad.”

Elsa has a spoon of pie in her mouth. The chicken melts in her mouth, the vegetables perfectly tender and the crust flaky and buttery. She chews and swallows before answering. “I’m Elsa Green,” she says, “I’m from London.”

“Liam walked her here,” Miss Granger adds,”I got stuck out in the field. One of the new lamb’s protection charms ended up getting the poor thing stuck in one of the fence posts.”

Elsa’s mind jumps in alarm. When she’d heard “stuck lamb” she had assumed it meant during birth. 

“Got the poor dear loose then did you?”

Miss Granger nods. 

“She’s well on with her little sheep life. What about that Spanish lass, how’s her English coming along?”

“Her speaking is much better, but she’s struggling quite a bit with reading and writing it. I fear I will have to weigh her down with work over the summer holidays to get her up to speed.”

Elsa’s curiosity gets the best of her. 

“If she speaks Spanish, why doesn’t she go to school in Spain?”

Mr. Granger chuckles. 

“We’re the last academy for girls this side of Europe. Used to be we were big enough to have instructors who spoke a dozen languages, but we’re down to just English and French now.”

Elsa’s interest is piqued, wondering where the other schools used to be, wondering why this one was the last. Spain, she thinks. She doesn’t think Spain is technically on anyone’s side in the war yet, Mum had told her a bit about the turmoil in the country in the past decade. She wonders where the other students come from, Europe’s pretty big. There could be German students, she thought, or Polish ones. She wonders if any will return to bombed houses, or burning villages. 

Annie summons up a jar of ginger biscuits for pudding, and Elsa is so unused to sweets that she finds her teeth beginning to ache. The others don’t seem to notice, munching the biscuits and sipping their tea while discussing more things Elsa doesn’t quite understand, but finds she wants to. 

After tea, Elsa sees her first bit of magic. 

Behind the staircase is the tiny sitting room, just three armchairs and a table. On the table sits a single old-fashioned gas lamp. At some point that Elsa didn’t see, Miss Granger had retrieved her wand (there that word was again!) from the brolly stand, and taps the lamp once, muttering something that sounds like “light”. It lights up, and from the sudden glimmers both upstairs and down, so do all of the other lamps in the house. 

“Gas in all these lamps are alike,” Mr Granger explains, seeing the look of shock on Elsa’s face, “It’s quite easy to convince all of it to do the same thing. The set up talking it out of every escaping the lamp and causing fires is a bit more daunting.”

Elsa nods, but her mind is still reeling. She moves idly around the room, fingers touching the simple fixtures. Thankfully, her eyes have been drawn to one thing specifically. 

The largest bit of furniture in the sitting room is a bookcase, stuffed to the brim. 

“Can I?” she asks, turning to the two of them with pleading eyes. Both of the Grangers have taken to their chairs and opened books of their own, and Elsa’s heart swells. Mum was fond of knowledge, though these days she often stuck more to newspapers than proper books. Dad often remarked that reading gave him a right powerful headache. Perhaps she will find herself fitting more with the hobbies the Grangers preferred. 

Miss Granger looks up at her words, 

“Have at it Elsa, though you may not want to read anything aloud, that whole shelf is a bit of a mixed up minefield.”

Elsa’s eyes move along the spines so rapidly she can scarcely read the titles. Eventually, she sort of picks one at random, and turns back. Seeing Annie in the third chair, with a knitting bag on her lap and two needles in hand, she expects to have to pick up a nice spot on the floor, but when her eyes move over the room, there is suddenly a fourth chair. She sits down in it gingerly, before letting herself relax. The upholstery is a lovely plum velvet. 

Her mind is racing so fast that she barely has time to absorb what’s in the book she picked (it’s something about various types of plants, with diagrams, and she will definitely be returning to it). By the time Mr Granger peeks out the window and comments that it’s getting late, Elsa scarcely feels like she’s flipped her way through a dozen pages. 

“We’re not quite the type to insist you’re in bed before dark,” Miss Granger assures her when she stands and close her book, “But there are some things in this house you might not want to just stumble upon by yourself, so until you’re used to it, you should really stick to your room at night.”

Elsa nods. She’s pretty tired as is, so she marks her spot in the book and returns it to the shelf. 

The four of them make their way up the staircase, and Elsa assumes the room at the end of the landing must be Mr and Ms Grangers. She wonders what they planned for the rest of these rooms when the war hadn’t been on.

Before she can go into her room, Annie touches her wrist. 

“I almost forgot, let me show you something.”

The two of them creep back downstairs to the kitchen, which is now dark, but nowhere near London blackout guidelines dark.

Annie reaches into a cupboard for a saucer that she fills with milk from the ice box. She sets it on the ground, and Elsa jumps when a small, fast, critter scurries out to it. She’s not frightened of mice, not terribly, but Miss Granger’s last words still make her feel like she needs to grab the broom. 

“Don’t be scared,” Annie assures her, “These are fairy-mice. They’re the reason we don’t have to do too much cleaning, they eat away the soot and dust, so long as we leave out an offering for them,”

Annie picks one up and pets the back of it’s head. It’s not really white like an ordinary mouse, in fact Elsa can almost see through it, as though it was made of ice or glass.

“Just remember to cover up anything iron in your room. Fairies can’t stand iron, if you leave anything out, they’ll spew all the house’s dust all over the place. That’s why someone still has to dust the staircase, they won’t touch the rail.”

Annie stays lying on her stomach on the floor, watching them. Elsa turns to return to her room.

Before changing into her nightdress, Elsa glances around the room, seeking signs of anything made of iron. The bed, desk and drawers are all wood, and the lamp on the nightstand is brass. She’s suddenly unsure about a couple of the fixtures on the wireless (did steel count as iron?), and just to be safe, when she pulls off her pullover, she throws it over the top. 

She combs her hair out as best as she can, hoping it won’t get too mussed rolling around in her sleep. She’d forgotten her kerchief, of course it turned out she’d forgotten something. Her skin feels grimy and sticky from the ride, she’ll ask Miss Granger about a bath tomorrow. 

When she sits in bed, Elsa lets her feet run over the polished wood of the floor. At home, the flat had carpet in a dark red color. The wood feels better under her feet, but Elsa supposes it must be hard to keep clean without fairy mice, and in winter it must be quite cold. For now, she appreciates the smooth feel under her toes. 

It is dark outside already, and Elsa considers lighting the lamp and pulling out a book to read for a while. Eventually, she yawns and the drag of the day catches up with her, so she just pulls back the coverlet and slides under the covers.

Sleep does not come to her though. She’s often heard mutterings from her mother and father about having trouble sleeping, but she’s never struggled such. It’s somehow too quiet, no automobiles going by the shop throughout, and also too loud, the sound of cicadas and the screech of an owl coming through her window. And there’s too much light. The thin curtains don’t even keep out the moon. 

After tossing and turning for a time, Elsa sits up with a groan, and goes to look out the window. She considers dragging over the desk chair, but the windowsill ends up being wide enough for her to sit on reasonably comfortably, at least for a short time. 

The window mostly looks out over the forest, but if Elsa twists her head far to the right, she can make out part of the town on the horizon. 

The moon is nearly full, and there are many stars out, more stars than she could have ever hoped to see in the London sky, but it’s the village that gets her. In the center, where she expects the market square would be, is a clocktower with a light gleaming that she can see from her window like a candle’s glow. 

Her stomach turns fiery. If she could see that light, then surely the Germans could! If a bomb was aimed at it, it could destroy the whole village, and from the way Annie and the Grangers talked, no one living there cared at all! They didn’t follow the blackout and didn’t seem to even think anything about the war at all. 

Elsa stares off into the night sky, imagining the shapes of German planes among the stars, hidden from view by some sort of magic. Hidden until the moment they chose to strike, unleashing their fire and destruction from above. She remembers hearing the reports of the invasion of Poland, and the troops fighting in Norway. The Germans may not have reached England yet, but it couldn’t be long. Scotland was barely across the water from Norway after all. 

Eventually, she makes her way back to bed, and finds a fitful night’s sleep. Woken several times from dreams, she jumped up each time, expecting to hear the whine of an air raid siren.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning is overcast, so Elsa doesn’t wake up until there’s the sound of movement downstairs. 

When she realizes what time it is, she throws back her coverlet, sits up, stretches, and stands to get dressed. 

Her pullover is undisturbed over the wireless. Apparently the fairy-mice didn’t mind. She tosses it in her laundry bag. The air when she cracks the window is rather cool, so she pulls her spare jumper over her blouse and buttons the front. 

Her stomach growls, so she doesn’t bother with her shoes before trotting downstairs. 

At the stove, Miss Granger is frying bacon and eggs. Elsa’s stomach growls harder. She notices that the stove and grates are spotlessly clean. Looks like Annie’s stories of the fairy mice were accurate. 

Annie’s already sitting at the table, still in her nightdress. She has a pen and a notebook in front of her, but her eyes are bleary and Elsa guesses she’s not a morning person. 

Miss Granger passes both of them plates of eggs and bacon and fried bread. Thanks to her sleepy eyes, Elsa manages to slip her bacon onto her plate without note, before sandwiching her eggs between the folded bread and wolfing it down. 

“Eat up,” Miss Granger tells her, “Elsa, I’d like to give you a tour this morning, if you feel up to it.”

Elsa nods eagerly, licking a bit of soft yolk from her upper lip. 

When Elsa’s finished drinking the last of her milk, Mr. Granger rushes downstairs, his tie askew. 

“Have to run,” he tells them, kissing his wife once on the cheek. 

“That’s what happens when you sleep late.”

He pauses to pat Annie on the shoulder. 

“Keep up the work, I’ll go over it with you after tea.”

Miss Granger rinses the dishes at the sink, and Elsa jumps up to help her dry. She points to tell her where they belong in the cabinets, which contain all sorts of very ordinary looking dishware. 

Miss Granger pats Annie on the shoulder. 

“Still want to spend your entire day inside?”

Annie doesn’t respond, but Miss Granger doesn’t seem expectant of a response. 

“Follow me Elsa,” she says over her shoulder, “I’ll show you everything that goes into keeping this place running every day.”

The door in the back opens up into the back garden, smaller and less well kept than the front. There’s a footpath, and a hundred meters or so behind the fence, is the barn. 

“Make sure to latch the gate,” Miss Granger tells her, “Otherwise we might end up having tea with a chicken or two in the living room.”

The barn looks like, well, like a barn. Elsa isn’t sure if there’s supposed to be much variation in design. 

Elsa has seen pictures before, of cows and sheep and other animals, but seeing them up close is an entirely different story. She didn’t expect them to be quite so..big. 

Miss Granger chuckles. 

“Wide eyed city girls. Annie screeched when she saw Bea the first day. Never wanted anything else to do with her.”

She pats the spotted heifer on the flank, before letting her out the door. Still a bit wary, Elsa reaches out to do the same. Her hide is smooth and warm. 

“I did the milking before breakfast, so we just need to let her out to graze. After her, the sheep too.”

The sheep thankfully aren’t as big and intimidating as Bea is, though Elsa still keeps her distance. She watches as Miss Granger shoos them out the barn door too.

She stares off after them, not seeing any fences. 

“Don’t they...wander off?”

“Oh no,” Miss Granger insists, “The safe paths are marked, and so are our property lines. I put the charms on every newborn lamb telling them this in the spring, and it mostly works out. Though there was an incident yesterday involving one of the fences by the forest. No charm is foolproof.”

“Is doing…” magic, “things like that, is it difficult?”

“It takes some skill, and a fair bit of understanding, but these are relatively small enchantments.”

Before they leave the barn, something brushes up against Elsa. 

She jumps a bit, before realizing it’s just the gray cat from yesterday. While Elsa kneels down to pet it, Miss Granger chides her. 

“Sleeping on the job again Luz? If I find a single mouse out here, you’re going to be left out of the barn so fast even you couldn’t land on your feet.”

Luz sits back on her haunches before the voice says, 

“So many threats, perhaps my prey will be left on the doorstep.”

Miss Granger swats him with the end of a broom set by the door. 

“She talks big words, but I have never seen a mouse escape her clutches. And she knows I get tired of her, no one else will take her in, for they’ve all grown sick of her attitude.”

They pass the chicken coop, which is fenced in neatly. 

“I have found that chickens are often resistant to most kinds of magic, so they must be carefully fenced in. Annie takes care of this for us in the morning, leaving feed, gathering eggs, letting me know if anything needs to be patched.”

Elsa stares off at the coop. The eggs she had eaten for breakfast had been some of the best she had ever tasted. She wonders if there’s any magic involved there, or if they just tasted better so much closer to the chickens. 

“What do you grow on the farm?” she asks when they pass. 

“Oats and wheat for sale. The wool from the sheep fetches a fine price too, there’s a weaver in the village that loves our wool. There’s not much to do with them right now, harvesting doesn’t start until August, and planting afterward. This time of year we just watch for drought, and sometimes Shirley the miller’s daughter comes by to send her weeding rabbits through the wheat.”

Elsa hopes she gets to see that. She’s always heard that rabbits would eat anything they could get their paws on, and imagined they would have no place in a farm other than as livestock.

“The big jobs right now comes right here.”

They’ve reached the vegetable patch, and Elsa’s excitement rises. It seems such an ordinary thing, but she’s so used to only seeing fruits and vegetables coming to the store already in crates 

“Potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, garlic, peas, beans, carrots, turnips, sugar beets, strawberries and cabbage. Pumpkins and corn go into the ground later this month, maybe they’ll come out better than last year.”

The whole patch is larger than even the back gardens of house’s Elsa had seen visiting the towns in Devon. To a city girl by the side of the road, it would look like a farm in itself. 

“Shirley’s rabbits can take care of the big fields, but for these, weeding by hand is a necessary,” Miss Granger says, pulling out her gloves, and putting them on before kneeling down between two rows. 

Elsa kneels down alongside her, her knees in the dirt. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Elsa insists, “I’m not scared of getting a bit dirty. I needed a bath later anyway.”

They move up and down the rows of vegetables, some only seedlings The scent of wet dirt and green growing things is heavy in Elsa’s nose 

At one point Miss Granger spares a glance to her knees. 

“I’ll find you some trousers and boots,” she insists, “You shouldn’t be tearing up what you brought working out here in them.”

Elsa is grateful. She doesn’t tell her that the other clothes she’d brought, two skirts, two jumpers, a handful of blouses and one too small dress, were all the clothes she had aside from her school uniforms, which would have been ridiculous to wear out here. The shop did well enough, Dad and Mum always said, but they were far from well off.

“Is this all just for the farm?” She asks at one point, after plucking some rather stubborn creeping vine from a bean plant. 

Miss Granger nods, before leaning back and stretching. Elsa wonders if she wished she was still young enough to kneel straight in the dirt. 

“The flour and oats are bought by people throughout the valley, but the rest is saved for us. Not too many like going over the rim, so supplies are sometimes low on things unless we can grow them ourselves. We try for self reliance.”

At least that is good, Elsa thinks. Too little of England is like that. She remembers Dad ranting on occasion about the amount of produce, of food in general that had to come from overseas. People would complain about his prices without thinking of how much it cost to ship things from France, or Spain, or even further away. 

The morning continues, with both of them chatting back and forth. Elsa tells Miss Granger about the famous places she had seen in London, about Fred and Thomas, about Mum and Dad and the shop. Miss Granger tells her about how the land the farm lies on had been empty for over a decade and a half before Lady Sylvia had leased it to them. She points out a spot along the horizon, before the woods starts proper. She says their land ends just beyond there. The previous owners had tried to start an orchard, and there were apple and pear trees they picked from later in the year. 

“What are your favorite fruits?”

Elsa chuckles. 

“Peaches. I imagine I’ll be a proper adult by the time I get to taste another one of them. We used to get them in the store during summer, but I haven’t eaten one in over a year. Dad says most of them come from Spain or Italy.”

Miss Granger nods. 

“I’ve got a sapling in my greenhouse, but it’s going to be just a test of time to see if it produces.”

Elsa’s heart quickens. She’s seen drawings of greenhouses, and dimly remembers seeing a building off to the east side of the farm house that shone in the sun, but she’s never been in a real one before. 

By the time the vegetable patch is free of weeds, Elsa feels her muscles burn and her blouse soaked through with sweat. It’s not a particularly warm day, but the sun is now high in the sky. 

“It’s about dinnertime,” Miss Granger says, “Let’s go see what we can round up.”

When they re-enter the farmhouse, Elsa suddenly feels a bit like an ox or other beast of burden, like she’s lumbering about the otherwise civilized house. This doesn’t last long thankfully, as Annie seems to have expected them. 

“This is the last of the bread Miss,” she tells Miss Granger as she sets out the tray of sliced bread with cheese and blackberry jam. Elsa happily takes her portion and pours herself a tall glass of milk.

“We need to go to the market tomorrow anyhow, we can get more then. Did Jack already come by for the milk cans?”

“Yes, he left the pay in that envelope on the table.”

Elsa licks her thumb, and wonders if there’s somewhere in town that might sell her a pack of hairpins. It’s been a fight today keeping the front bits out of her face. 

When they’ve finished up, Annie’s gone back to her book. 

“What are you reading?” Elsa asks her. 

Annie makes a face. 

“I’m not sure really.”

Elsa peeks a little closer. It’s a reader, but one written for children, maybe first or second year of primary school. She remembers reading them, deadly dull lines about manners and morals. She’ll have to go through her books and find something better for her, Annie will never see the point of reading better if that’s all she has. 

“Elsa, I’m going to head out to the greenhouse if you’d still like to see it.”

That distracts her, and Elsa jumps to follow her. 

“Now, I call this a greenhouse,” Miss Granger starts, leading her to a building made of wood and glass that’s a bit of a ways past the vegetable patch. “But it’s more accurate to call it my workshop. The enchantments in here are quite a bit more...complex than the ones on the rest of the farm. So I ask you to please stick close to me and avoid touching anything unless I say it’s safe.”

The glass door swings open easily, and Elsa is completely bowled over. 

Every inch of the inside is in use. There’s a dozen or so wooden work tables, label with paper and pots and measuring instruments. Glass trays hold sand and dirt and small seedlings. Between the tables, more plants grow in pots, vines spilling over and onto the ground. More hang from the ceiling, and in one corner, a small tree even grows under the glass cover. 

“Dealing with the variables outside, the temperature, the rain, the wind. Any attempts to alter those is very big magic. 

“How do you mean?” Elsa asks, staring up at the ceiling and turning in a circle, slowly, drinking everything in. 

“Well, let’s take the rain. Too much rain will drown a plant, too little will starve it. But where do I stop? Rainstorms aren’t small, they’re quite large sometimes. If I ask the rain to stop over newly planted seedlings, I risk damaging someone else’s crop. Also, how do I tell it to come back? Rain and sun are fundamental, but they are not living things, they do not think or reason. It’s much easier-”

She gestures to the peach sapling. 

“To convince just the air inside this shed, or these trays, or these boxes, to stay a bit warm, and a bit moist. There’s not as much to balance.”

This, rather than just enjoyable, Elsa finds fascinating. She stares in wonder as Miss Granger points out various plants, the peach sapling, a tea bush, several different types of peppers. 

“It’s my dream,” she mentions, “to have a cacao tree in here, but it has so far eluded even my skills. Imagine it- being able to grow and process your own chocolate.”

Elsa’s drooling. It’s been so long since she’s had chocolate made by anyone at all. She sits cross-legged on the floor, mesmerized as Miss Granger moves between tables, checking and measuring. Sometimes she retrieves her wand, and Elsa watches, jaw agape, as little sparks, or sometimes smoke, exits the tip. 

This continues on the rest of the afternoon, with few words, until Miss Granger looks at her watch and announces,

“Well, I think we should go see what there is for tea.”

Tea turns out to be chicken soup made from yesterday’s leftovers. It’s thickened with carrots and noodles, and Elsa swigs it down happy when Mr returns from the school. 

“Last day is finally finished, now there’s only the end of term celebration Monday, and I will be free to stay home and sit on my backside all day.”

Miss Granger smiles. 

“It’s sweet that you think I would allow that. I will not allow you to foist your portion of our work off on these nice girls here.”

Elsa feels her face burn. Then she goes white. Monday. That meant today was Friday. She shoves down her feelings with another spoon of soup.

Once Miss Granger clears the dishes, Elsa asks her. 

“May I take a bath this evening?”

Miss Granger nods over her shoulder. 

“Give me a few, I’ll show you where everything is. Good there won’t be a conflict, Annie seems partial to taking morning baths, and Peter and I are much of the same mind.”

After a day and a half of surprises, the bath is blessedly ordinary, a big porcelain tub with brass fittings. Elsa’s pleased to find that the farmhouse has proper running water. The flat did too, but it was often unpredictable to say the least. Here, when she turns on the hot tap, the water steams up and stays hot. 

“You have one of Lady Sylvia’s ancestors to thank for that. When the valley was still being built, she divined where the waters were. We’ve had running water longer than most of the country knew such a thing existed, parts of the school are even heated by an old hot spring.”

That’s the second mention in these days of the mysterious Lady Sylvia. 

Miss Granger had said the soap was under the sink. Retrieving it, Elsa notices a bag of laundry soap and a length of twine. While the water is still running, she clambers up the stairs to retrieve her clothes from the previous day. 

The water stays warm, and she uses the soap and rag to scrub every crevice. She still doesn’t quite understand how the dirt manages to get inside her ears, but there it is. By the time she’s sure she’s clean, the water has taken on a light brown tone from all the outside dirt. Yet somehow, this actually makes her feel good. 

When she’s finished, warm and sleepy, she manages to pull herself from the tub and empty it. She fills it back up an inch or two, and retrieves the bag of laundry soap. 

The soap is odd, it feels soft in her hands and has a vague sparkle once it hits the water. She never seems to need to rinse it from the fabric either. 

She squeezes everything out, and hangs them using the twine. God, how she hated laundry, Mum always did the wash in the bathtub, and she did everything she could to avoid helping-

Her heart suddenly twists upon itself. Mum. 

Was she sad, at home without her? Had the bombs come to London yet? She thinks of Friday, of the candles. It was always the candles, between her and dad. Dad would chide her for still lighting them, and the past year it had escalated. Mum never lit them long enough to get in trouble with the ARP wardens, but Dad yelled all the same, that “they” would see them. He used to say that too, but Elsa thinks the “they” has changed. 

Did they fight again tonight? Did they miss her terribly?

Before she knows it, she’s bent over the tub, holding her stomach. A strangled sob escapes her throat. She hopes the tears don’t spoil her laundry. 

She hadn’t realized she was making enough noise to be heard, but when she leaves the lavatory in her nightdress, Miss Granger is standing in the kitchen still, and pushes a mug of cocoa on her. There are still tear tracks on her face when she mutters a “thank you.”

That night, Elsa tries to distract herself. She turns on the wireless in the corner, but gets no reception, as she expected. One day, she’ll have to hike up to the edge of the valley to see if you can get a better signal. 

She sits at the window and stares out over the land. This place is really quite lovely, like something out of one of her books. She stares into the sky, once again looking for German planes. 

Something off near the forest moves and distracts her train of thought. It’s silvery-white, and for a moment, she thinks it’s just a horse. She frowns though. Why would a lone horse, without a saddle, be wandering near the forest?


	4. Chapter 4

The walk into town on Saturday is long, but pleasant. 

Elsa and Annie had both been woken in the morning to the sound of Mr. Granger whistling over a pot of thick porridge while Miss Granger handled the morning milking. 

“Eat up,” he told them both, ladling the porridge into bowls for them. 

“Market day, so lots of walking ahead, got to keep up your strength.”

Elsa smiles as she eats her porridge. She can’t imagine her father cooking anything at home, he could barely make his own tea. She pictures him burning an egg. But it suits Mr. Granger, he’s even wearing a short apron over his shirt and braces. Annie tells her he does this every weekend. 

“He makes us breakfast and Miss Granger cooks Sunday dinner. I wonder if they’ll let me in the kitchen at all now that he’s not going to be teaching during the week!”

The ground from the farmhouse slopes downward, but not to a terribly steep degree. Elsa’s swapped her regular shoes for her plimsoles so the rocks don’t bother her quite as much. 

While they’re still somewhat high up, Miss Granger points across the valley to two large structures on the horizon.

“The bigger building is the academy. You’ll get to see that on Monday when we all go for the end-of-term celebration. The other is the ancestral estate of the Wylde’s. Lady Sylvia and her family have lived there for hundreds of years.”

Elsa is intrigued, but does not give it a great deal of thought. Country estates were so far from the world she knew. From where she is, they are merely blurs of white and brown buildings. 

The tenant from the next farm over rides past them on a horse. Miss Granger had told her that the next farm bred horses, and Elsa tried to hide her disappointment that the Grangers didn’t have any. 

“I saw a horse out by the forest the other night,” she tells her, “It was silver.”

“Don’t think that was a horse,” Mr Granger tells her, “Silver’s more a color typical of a unicorn, normally an older mare. That was probably Old Bertha, she comes out of the forest on nice nights now and then.”

Elsa tries to wrap her mind around a unicorn named Bertha. 

The village comes into sight alongside a road that runs perpendicular to a wide stream. Walking in proper, the road forms a bridge that crosses over. 

Elsa stares at the buildings around here. There’s lots of whitewash and polished wood and cobblestone, and most of the buildings are hung with oil lanterns outside. It almost looks like something out of a storybook. There’s even a clocktower off in the distance on the far side of the market. 

When they reach the road, it’s dotted with people. A few are on horses, or in simple carriages. More still are on bicycles, but mostly they walk. The signs hang from shops, proclaiming their wares. There’s an occasional bell and sometimes people yelling out to each other, and there’s the smell of stone and flowers and a hint of hot tea on the air.

At the end of the street, they pause in front of a building with a big glass window. 

“Once they light the lanterns, we’ll all meet back here to have tea,” Mr. Granger tells them. Miss Granger hands them both envelopes with coins inside. “In case you need anything,” she tells them.

And with those words, Elsa is alone. Even Annie has scampered off, no doubt more familiar with the village than her. 

Elsa walks slowly, tilting her head trying to take everything in. Signs dot the shops. There are many that look much like the shops in London, a grocery, a chemist (the sign calls it an apothecary), and a sweetshop. Some of the others are less familiar, a shop with cats on the window display, another with a lineup of brooms and pots and little wheels and gears. At the end of the street, there is something that the sign only describes as “Bits and bobbles and books.” She’ll check that one out later.

Out in the streets are carts and stands, full of produce and creations. There are jars of honey and jam, bars of soap that smell of herbs and flowers and even a cart with hot drinks (that’s where the smell of tea had been coming from and the elderly woman standing it even has chocolate and coffee too.) 

Elsa decides to get her hairpins first, so she won’t forget them.

She steps into the chemist, and is immediately assaulted by smells. Vinegar, cleaning chemicals and something strangely spicy all enter Elsa’s nose, making her wince. 

“Hello?” she asks. She looks around. The shop is dim, only a little sunlight filtering through the windows. There are a few shelves full of bottles and boxes that look like a normal chemist, but the majority of the floor space is full of trays and drawers full of vials of brightly colored liquids, bits and pieces Elsa doesn’t recognize. Next to the entrance is a tray of what looks to her, somehow, like eyeballs.

“Can I help you?” a voice calls out from the back of the store. A man stands behind a counter there, a cash machine on one side, a jar of newts on the other. 

The man is tall, with long hair pulled back. In fact, much about him is long, his face and fingers are as well. His voice is polite, but there’s something in his tone that makes Elsa question if he knows she’s a person, or if he thinks she’s a lizard he’s studying. 

“Hello,” she starts, nervously polite, “I was wondering if you sold hairpins here?”

The tall man pauses, and when he answers, his voice is a great deal plainer than it had been before. 

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, items such as that are likely found at Practicals around the corner.”

Feeling a strange tension, Elsa nods and quickly exits the apothecary. 

“I wonder if that man has studied any medicine at all!” she thinks to herself, incredulously. 

Around the corner, she finds Practicals quite easily. A queer name for a shop, but very descriptive. It is a plain gray building with modern lighting, and it’s shelves are piled with various necessary but awfully unexciting things. While seeking her hairpins, Elsa finds bowls and plates, balls of twine, toilet plungers and razor blades. Next to the hairpins are three different types of hair curlers. 

She pays the girl at the counter for the pins, tucks them in her jumper pocket, and leaves the shop. 

She’s tempted by the sweetshop and her few remaining coins, but decides to take a look inside “Bits and Bobbles and Books” first. 

The shop itself is rather ramshackle, the window in the front is dark. When Elsa opens the door, the smell of dust hits her. 

The shelves are all dark wood, and laden with…

Books. Books and newspapers, magazines. School books and pulp novels and funny books and clippings, Elsa steps closer and realizes they all appear to be in different languages. 

Further up front, there’s a counter with a selection of cosmetics on one side, pots and jars in pale, feminine colors. The other side is brightly wrapped sweets and chocolate bars Elsa doesn’t recognize. 

She’s begun to peruse the shelves, when she notices the quiet woman who has entered and sat at the counter.

“Hello,” the woman calls out in a rather mouselike voice, “I’m afraid I’ve never seen you before.”

Elsa turns to face her. The woman is rather plain, with brown hair and eyes under a pair of spectacles. She’s not terribly old, perhaps twenty, certainly no older than twenty-five. Her voice sounds unusual, but not in any way that Elsa can place.

“I’m Elsa Green,” she tells her. 

The woman frowns. 

“Well you’re not a student. I’ve been up to campus a few times this year, and you wouldn’t have arrived at the end of term. So how did you wind up in Moonrise, Elsa Green?”

Elsa picks up a bit of newsprint and looks through it. It’s mostly funny papers, ones she doesn’t recognize. American perhaps, or Canadian.

“I was evacuated from London, because of the war. I’m staying at the Granger’s farm.”

The woman smiles grimly. 

“They’re evacuating people again. That’s good I suppose. Better than the alternative.”

There’s a pause, and Elsa feels like she must ask.

“Your accent-”

The woman smiles again, almost sadly this time. 

“Before I became a student at the academy up the hill, I was born in the Basque country.”

Elsa frowns a bit, thinking. 

“Basque country....that’s in Spain isn’t it?”

There’s something else about it, but she can’t quite remember…

The woman stands. She’s quite tall for a woman. 

“I am Ana Guittierez. I chose to stay here once I finished school. I was never much as a witch, though I did ace my winking exam-”

Elsa finally can’t help herself. 

“What’s ‘winking’?”

Miss Ana nods in understanding.

“‘Winking’ is a witch’s term for autonomous transport to specific points in the world. There’s a whole book up at the academy of places set with their latitudes and longitudes, it’s bigger than any other book I’ve seen beside a dictionary. It takes much practice, but I always had a knack for it. I use it mostly to make my living-”

She gestures to the whole shop around her. 

“By procuring things from around the continent to help students feel at home more. I remember in school all I wanted sometimes was to read something printed in Spanish for once.”

She smiles down at the sweets and cosmetics. 

“Though these do seem to be my bestsellers. I used to get a bigger cut with things like shampoo and other things a student might forget to bring, but then Practicals opened up and undercut me…”

Elsa politely steps back from the counter and carefully begins to go through the papers on the shelves. She finds a collection of interesting looking cartoons. The girl in the first batch of panels has a pilot’s helmet, and she’s never seen something like that before. She folds it up, then moves to the counter. 

Picking her sweets is easy, because Elsa recognizes absolutely nothing on the rack and so picks one at random in a shiny silver wrapper. She counts out her coins and asks Miss Ana if it’s enough. She looks, nods, and hands Elsa a single pence back.

When she exits the shop, Elsa gazes up at the sky to try and judge the time, before she remembers that the village has a clocktower.

She unwraps the sweet she’d picked. It’s a layer of chocolate around a fluffy pink strawberry center. The sweetness flows over her tongue as she wanders the market square just looking at things. 

She pokes her face into nearly all the shop windows. Other than the ones she saw earlier, there’s a tool shop and a blacksmith off down another side road. Elsa’s never seen a real blacksmith before, but she imagines someplace with lots of farms might need one more than London. There’s a feed store on the other side of that street, and Elsa thinks she sees Miss Granger’s ginger streaked head in the window. She’s not too interested, so she turns back to the main street. 

Further in the center of town sits a fountain. The rim is thick enough to sit on. Elsa does so, though the stone is a bit cold. There’s an inscription on a plaque that Elsa leans over to read, licking the last bit of her chocolate from her lips.

Much of the writing has been worn down, but what Elsa can read says that the fountain sits over the mouth of a sacred spring. 

After sitting a bit, Elsa yawns. The sun is high today, and it’s beams are making her feel rather sleepy. Eventually, fighting its power, Elsa rises to her feet, and stretches. 

Walking, still a bit out of it, she bumps into Annie. Literally, as they both fall to the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” Elsa apologizes, rubbing her head. She looks Annie up and down, and notes the wrapped bundle in her arms. 

“What have you got?”

Annie grins. 

“Bit of lace to finish a dress I made for the end of term celebration on Monday.”

Oh, Elsa had forgotten about that. Well, she does have that one dress. She pauses, squeezing that last penny in her pocket. She only has white stockings and her dress is dark blue and black. Oh well, she’ll just have to look goofy.

“What are you going to wear to it?”

Elsa stares up at the sky. 

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I only have one dress, I guess it will have to be that.”

Annie doesn’t pay her any mind, just keeps skipping, fingering the lace in the package. 

“Did you already spend your pocket money?”

Elsa nods, then jerks her head upright. 

“I needed hair pins,” she starts, then reaches in under the side of her jumper, removing the folded stack of funny papers. She hands them to Annie. 

“I got these for you. They’re much better reading than those awful moral school readers.”

Annie turns a little red, but smiles when she takes the papers. She only glances at them before tucking them away. 

“So I guess you met Miss Ana?”

Elsa looks at her curiously. 

“Her shop didn’t exactly look like your sort of place. How did you meet her?”

Annie pauses, and sort of looks around before answering. 

“Apparently Lady Wylde doesn’t like people leaving the valley. She didn’t even like it when Practicals opened because almost everything there has to be manufactured outside and shipped here.”

That made sense. Elsa had sort of gotten the feeling that the place was very isolated, and Miss Granger has said it was quite self sufficient.

“So she-”

Annie gazes around the street they’re on. 

“She’s good at winking- did she tell you what that was?”

Elsa nods. 

“So if anyone needs something from outside, they go to her.”

She tilts her eyes upward to the bakery, which shares space with the sweet shop. Elsa spies two women inside, both with warm brown skin and curls, who look as though they could be sisters.

“Charlotte and Claudette use her to supply their chocolate.”

A broad, jolly faced man carrying a cart loaded with an anvil goes past. 

“Jacob, the smith, goes to her when he needs fresh ores.”

Elsa frowns. 

“And no one says anything? If it’s against the rules-”

“I don’t know if Lady Wylde even knows. She pretty much never comes into town, she’s always at the school or her estate. I’ve only seen her from afar once. Besides, I don’t think they’re real rules, just things people here don’t do.”

Elsa shakes the description off. She doesn’t want to make Lady Wylde a mysterious figure in her mind. 

Annie tilts her head up to one of the lanterns in along the street, which is now lit in the early dusk’s disappearing light. 

“You’ve got another surprise coming, courtesy of Miss Ana,” Annie says. 

When Elsa looks at her quizzically, she grins. 

“We’re so far from the coast, I wouldn’t have expected to have any fish at all, but every Saturday morning, Miss Ana winks out to Blackpool so Mr. and Mrs. Stebbens can fry up fish and chips at the pub.”

Elsa’s stomach growls. There was a chippie just down the road from the shop in London, Fred and Thomas had brought it back to the boarding house nearly every Friday night. She hadn’t expected to be able to eat it again for years. 

They meet the Grangers at the pub easily. It seems like almost the entire street is here, lining up for their meal before taking spots on the leather bar stools that seem to already be picked out.

Elsa pays only a little attention as they eat. Annie’s got the funny papers she’d given her, and she helps her parse the words. Flyin’ Jenny’s a pretty good read, and Elsa hopes she’ll beat those saboteurs. 

The deep fried batter smells like home. And thankfully, it’s not too heavy, since they still have to walk back to the farm. Elsa’s wondering about the darkness, when Mr. Granger lifts his wand from his coat pocket, and the tip illuminates, lighting their way. 

Elsa’s glad that she chose her plimsoles that day. The darkness risks more rocks and animal holes. When they return, it’s dark enough that she swears she sees Luz eyeing one of the fairy mice near the barn.

She hadn’t realized how tired she was, until she made it to her room and pulled off her shoes. She tries the wireless one more time, and stares out the window only for a few moments, before falling face first into bed. 

She jerks awake in the morning, disoriented and feeling like she has definitely overslept. She makes her way downstairs, still in her nightdress. It’s Sunday, she thinks, will she be expected to go to church with them?

Annie’s at the kitchen table, still examining the funny papers, over her bowl of porridge. There’s another one across the table. 

“They both left already. Miss Granger wondered if you were ill, but I said you were probably just tired.”

Elsa sits down carefully, and begins to eat her porridge. There’s a light, meaty smell in the air, and Elsa realizes Miss Granger’s probably already put the roast on.

“They don’t make you go to church?”

Annie laughs. 

“They offered, and I went the first time. We never went in London, Mum had some very unkind things to say about our vicar, so I was curious. It was really dull, and because there’s always town meetings after that I can’t go to and I don’t like walking back to the farm by myself.”

Town meetings? Huh. 

“Besides,” Annie continues, “I like having time to myself. That I definitely never got at home.”

Elsa frowns. 

“Back in London...do you have brothers and sisters?”

Annie nods. 

“Six sisters. I’m the oldest. Me, Mary, Ellen, Dot, Maggie, Ruth, Anna. Mum couldn’t even get creative on the baby’s name.”

Elsa’s surprised. 

“How on earth did your mum get anything done?”

Annie snorts. 

“By passing it off to me mostly. I’ve been filling bottles and changing nappies as long as I’ve been able. Every moment there was someone hurt or crying or lost. I mean, I miss my sisters-”

There’s a tone in her voice, and Elsa wonders if she really does.

“But I’ve never only had to take care of me before.”

There’s a bit of silence, and Elsa doesn’t want to pry. 

“I’m an only child,” she admits, “I always wanted a brother or sister. I’m older than you,” she points out, “I could be your older sister while we’re here.”

Annie smiles softly, almost sadly. 

“That would be nice.”

Later that morning, before the Grangers return to the farm, Annie insists Elsa put on her dress so she can see what to make of it. 

“I’m glad you seem to enjoy sewing,” Elsa comments, “Domestic science was my worst subject in school.”

“I especially like only having to mend my own things,” Annie says as she fingers the fabric. 

The dress is dark blue with small black dots. It fits even worse than Elsa remembered, The puffy sleeves are pulled tight around her upper arms and the skirt barely touches her kneecaps. She looks like she’s still in junior school.

Annie carefully uses her scissors to cut the ties in her sleeves, and pulls the string free. 

“Is that better?” she asks. 

Elsa nods, pulling at the sleeves. It is much nicer without them digging, and she hadn’t cared too much for the puff.

When she reaches the skirt, Annie’s touch is different. Her eyes seem to sparkle almost as she pulls at the fabric. 

Once she’s done, the skirt now covers Elsa’s bony kneecaps.

Elsa stares, astonished.

“How did you do that?” she asks. 

Annie purses her lips. 

“It’s hard to describe. Miss Granger showed me how once, and it’s hard to put into words. It’s sort of, sort of like whispering to it. To the little fibers in the fabric. They used to be parts of something you see, this is wool, so they used to be parts of sheep, just like the Grangers sheep up on the hill.”

Elsa’s mind is turning a million miles a second. 

“You mean to say that this-” her voice catches, “magic, is something that regular people like us can learn?”

Annie smiles, genuinely. 

“Seems that way, though Miss Granger did say we were quite old. Most witch children start learning from their parents as soon as they can toddle. Mr Granger’s told me all the classes at the school, and I can’t even imagine doing half of them.”

Elsa’s so pleased with the changer to her dress that she twirls. 

“Show me what you need to do to finish yours now,” Elsa insists. She pauses, before turning to scamper back up the stairs too. 

“Wait, I’m the older sister now, I’ll read to you while you do it.”

When the Grangers return home and Miss Granger comes to check on the roast in the oven, Annie’s nearly done with her lace and Elsa’s gotten to the caucus race down the rabbit hole.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last batch I wrote before Nano started. Hopefully I'll be back at the end of the month with more written

All four of them join together to finish the farm chores because Mr Granger says they have to leave immediately after dinner to make the celebration. 

Annie and Elsa finish up early enough that they both run upstairs to change before dinner, though admittedly dressing up to eat bread and cheese makes Elsa want to laugh. 

Elsa’s altered dress turned out perfect, even if she still thinks it looks goofy with her white stockings and her shoes are scuffed from having been worn around the farm. She thinks Annie’s looks better, a soft pink lawn with sleeves that come down to her elbows and white lace along the collar. She clearly worked quite hard on it. 

Annie unties her plaits and frowns at her reflection. 

“I wish my hair wasn’t so straight. I don’t suppose you know how to use pincurls?”

Elsa laughs and shakes her head. She pulls the end of one of her curls and stretches it until it bounces back when she lets go, before ruthlessly pushing back the sides with pins. 

“Sorry. My hair just does this. My mum always said I should be happy I was born when curly hair was fashionable, because it sure isn’t willing to change because of what I want.”

They rush back downstairs to eat. Elsa’s stomach is full of so many butterflies that she can barely eat. Mr Granger had said that the school was too far to walk, so the two of them would have to wink alongside them, and said that it often resulted in an upset stomach. 

Miss Granger has changed out of her usual work clothes into a tartan patterned skirt and ruffled white blouse. Mr. Granger appears to be wearing his usual work clothes, though scrubbed clean, and he takes a moment to use his wand to shine everyone’s shoes. 

The group pads out to the mat laid outside the front door. Miss Granger takes Elsa’s hand, and nods to her to take Annie’s as well. When they have formed a chain, Mr Granger taps his wand on the mat, and mutters his coordinates under his breath. 

The sensation is rather like falling down a flight of stairs, an experience that Elsa has sadly experienced, her first time attempting to wear a pair of her mother’s heels. 

They all manage to remain upright when they land outside in the school gardens. Annie sways a bit, but Elsa is too taken aback by the academy’s building to remain unsteady.

Elsa knows next to nothing about architecture, and she’s seen buildings just as tall in London. But the buildings in London seem like a part of the city, gray and foggy and solid. This is as if it’s the ancient shape of the land itself. Even the word ‘castle’ seems weak.

And a castle it is , tall and stone, with windows and balconies and parapets too many to count. The gardens are lush and green and sweet smelling to the point it’s as if they’d been sprayed with perfume. The stone pathway leading under an arch into a courtyard looks very old and very well trod, and it leads back out through the gardens, past a wall, where Elsa imagines it must lead back to the village.

“Well, in we go now,” Mr Granger tells them, and lifts his arm to show the way. 

It’s as they begin to walk together as a group that Elsa begins to look at the people in the school instead of the building. 

While she notes several of the townspeople she met the past weekend, there are seas of what she assumes are the academy’s students. The girls (and they are all girls, she notes) all wear the same black gymslips and blue shirts with black shoes and black socks. They even wear the pointed hats that Elsa think look suitably witchy. The only individual parts of their outfits appear to be their cloaks, black and embroidered with patches and symbols that Elsa can’t read or recognize. 

Mr Granger leads them under the arch and up the castle steps. At this point, even Annie is enthralled, staring up at the stone ceiling.

The pathway narrows into a stone hallway, with bronze sconces on the walls holding lit torches. Elsa’s eyes linger on the flickering flame, wondering if the fire will burn. Mr. and Mrs Granger had told her that their gas lamps weren’t a fire hazard.

Eventually, the hallway opens up, and Mr Granger leads them to the end of a long table, where Elsa finds herself seated between Annie and Mrs Granger, watching a low stage set up in front of several rows of folding chairs. 

The students file in too, taking their place in the chairs, their hats settled neatly on their heads.

“This is the end of term prize-giving,” Mr Granger whispers. “There’s a feast afterwards.”

Elsa can’t stop smiling to herself. At the prize giving the year before, she was awarded most improved in maths. She hadn’t even been able to attend the giving for this term. She wasn’t sure if she was hoping for anything, but she was happy just to hope. 

Once the hall begins to fill up, a woman gets upon the stage. She is small, barely Elsa’s height, with tightly curled gray hair and spectacles resting on her pointed nose. She’s dressed much like the pupils, though her dress is a more mature style and her cloak is, instead of black, a solid violet. 

Elsa can gather that she must be the headmistress, and she listens intently as she gives the prizes. Enchantments, potions, transformations. All sorts of subjects Elsa can’t imagine taking in school.

She observes the students too. The youngest she sees must be just out of junior school and the oldest are grown up women. She wonders if they obey the school leaving age.

They look like they must have come from all over. There are Nordic faces and Italian names. One dark-skinned girl is named Charlotte Laurent, quite possibly the most French name Elsa could think of. 

After long enough that Elsa can feel Annie start to fidget beside her, the Headmistress announces the end of the ceremony, 

It’s at that point that the hall goes quiet and a figure from the table to the right hand side of the stage stands.

Much of the crowd are clearly dressed in their finery, though mostly it is quite subdued, no more than Elsa had seen on the crowds that walked down London streets making their way to church on Sundays. 

The woman who rises, however, is splendid. She wears a midnight blue gown that glitters as if with tiny diamonds. She has dark hair that is swept up onto her head, revealing her perfectly ice-pale skin, aristocratic nose and solid jaw.

“Another term at our great establishment has come to an end. For those of you who will return to us next year, I wish you leisure and fun during your holidays. For those of you who are among us for the last time, I only ask you this. Wherever you go, remember you are to uphold our school’s words, “Strength through class, strength through tradition.”

Elsa finds herself frowning as the crowd claps. Something in the woman’s words makes her uneasy, but before she can voice anything, she has sat back down and the headmistress is speaking again.

“Refreshments and music will be available in the next hall. Please file in in an orderly fashion.”

Well it’s not like the rest of the crowd is obeying, Elsa thinks and she stands and her stomach growls.

The next hall is lined on all sides with long tables laden with unusual smelling food and drinks. In the middle is another stage, where instruments sit, though without anyone playing them. 

Until one of the women in a dark cape (a teacher perhaps), waves her wand and strings begin plucking and drumsticks drumming.

Elsa stands by the table, trying to make sense of all the unique smells and colors. While she recognizes much of the dishes on the table as types of food, it is somehow still overwhelming her.

“You should start with the pumpkin soup,” Mrs Granger whispers over her shoulder, handing her an empty bowl before ladeling up some of her own, “Much of this has been grown in the school greenhouse and ponds, so you never know what might pop up.”

Elsa takes the bowl and examines its contents. Pale orange and softly spiced. When she finally takes a taste, she is reminded of squash, but somehow not. 

“Perhaps this year, mine will turn out as well,” Mrs Granger mutters before leaving to speak to another of the adults, leaving Elsa by herself again.

She turns around, trying to see if Annie is nearby. She eventually spots her, but the other girl is talking animatedly to one of the younger girls in a school cape. The girl has fluffy blonde hair, and appears to be speaking English, but when Elsa gets closer, the conversation they’re having is rapid-fire and she suddenly feels tremendously shy. 

Once Elsa finishes her pumpkin soup, she’s intrigued by a familiar smell. She finds a dark haired girl in uniform, standing next to a dish of potato kugel. 

The girl takes a taste, and Elsa hears her mutter, “not quite right,” but doesn’t get a chance to say anything in response before the girl leaves, shoveling a huge bite into her mouth. Elsa scoops a good amount of the dish onto a plate, relishing in the smell of potatoes, egg and onion.

“Did Hanna say anything to you?” Elsa jumps, realizing Annie’s behind her. 

“No,” Elsa says, taking a bite. Hanna must have been the girl who just left. 

“It’s pretty good, I’ll have to see if I remember how to make it,” she tells Annie, “There’s only a few ingredients.”

Annie nods. Her voice had sounded anxious.

“The others say she doesn’t want to go home and doesn’t want to talk about why.”

Elsa regards her curiously. 

“Where’s home for her?”

“Warsaw.”

“That’s in Poland right?”

Annie nods, and the back of Elsa’s neck crawls. The only thing she remembers from the radio reports of Poland this past year were bombs. Why was Hanna going home then, if she was able to get here and away from the bombs? Why didn’t she stay with someone in the village?

Elsa tries to shake it off. Not her business, she guesses.

The kugel fills her up well. It’s not good as Aunt Helen’s, but it’s nice enough.

She samples a bowl of some sort of seafood stew next. Walking among the crowd, the adults taller than her and shielded by their hats, and the uniformed girls who move around her as if she’s not there. 

It’s not the first time. Elsa often felt as though she was a needle in a haystack, nearly unremarkable. 

She finds a nice gap off to one side, between two tables, where she settles back to watch. 

Everyone here seems to orbit around each other, Elsa thinks, everyone finding their own little slot. Even Annie seems to blend in fine, chattering still to the blonde girl from earlier. 

There’s a swish, and Elsa nearly jumps realizing someone has come to stand beside her. She turns her head and realizes it’s Liam. 

“Oh,” she says, stilted, “You’re Liam Murphy right? We met last week.”

Liam, in turn, seems surprised that she’s spoken to him, nods.

And they slip back in silence.

Elsa sees the dark French girl from earlier walk towards her, seeing what Elsa has in her bowl. 

“How is the bouillabaisse?” she asks, voice thick with an accent.

Elsa shrugs. 

“I like it, but I’ve never had it before, I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like.”

The girl (Charlotte, Elsa thinks) leans over and takes a long sniff. 

“It smells like the spices are right. But I don’t think they can get the right fish.”

Elsa smiles, awkward, no sure what to say. Charlotte shifts her gaze to Liam, covers her mouth, and leaves quickly. Elsa finds herself even more confused than before.

She glances up at Liam, whose face is tight, his pointed ears pink. 

“How come they don’t like you?” she asks. 

Liam shakes his head. 

“No clue.”

Elsa’s next words are uncertain. 

“Aren’t there other children in the village?”

“Not too many,” Liam says, eyes downcast. “Most of them go away to school and once they’re out, they work. Shirley at the miller’s, Jane at the abattoir, Jacob at the smith. I mostly keep to myself.”

Elsa’s been ruminating on this next question for a while. 

“If this is a girl’s school, where do boy witches study?”

“There’s a boy’s school up north in Scotland, almost as far north as you can go. I know there used to be more, on the continent, but I don’t know any in particular.”

That’s something to think on. Still, two schools doesn’t seem like a lot for a whole country. She wants to ask more, ask how many witches there are all together, just in England or in the rest of Europe, wants to ask if they’ve always been here. But Elsa’s overcome by a rush of shyness again, 

They stand quietly for a while, which Elsa appreciates. Whenever she finds she has nothing to say, it seems someone else always wants to fill up the air with words. Sometimes she just doesn’t want to talk. 

Soon, she does though. 

“This is probably a strange question,” she starts, “But can you get onto the roof of the post office easily?”

Liam makes an odd face. 

“I’ve never done it, but Mam has a ladder for when she has to clear the gutters.”

A ladder, that would work. 

“I might turn up at the post office later this week then. I want to see if I can get radio reception closer to the edge of the valley.”

“If you can get what?”

He doesn’t know radio? Nevermind. 

“I’ll explain it when I come.”

That was good. If she could get the wireless working, she could learn what is happening in the rest of England, London even! It would be nice to hear something from the outside, before she tries to write to Mum and Dad about all of this 

She eats the rest of her bouillabaisse (which is quite good, whatever Charlotte had thought), and watches the dancefloor. She lets the music wash over her and the dancers blur into a colorful swirl. 

This whole thing feels like a dream. Not just the magic. The new places, the new tastes and sights and smells. 

She spends extra time examining the band. Watches the strings stretch and vibrate all on their own, the drumsticks pound, the cymbals crash. Is it easy? Maybe it is. 

As the afternoon turns to evening, the ceiling begins to darken. Elsa looks up and realizes the stone has faded, thinned, enough for the swirling oranges and reds of the sunset to be seen through. When the stars emerge from the blue, Mr. Granger finds her and says, 

“I think it’s about time we get back.”

When the four of them leave the castle and walk to wait their turn at the wink point, Elsa is deep in thought. Annie’s chattering on to Mrs Granger about something and Elsa can’t even pretend to follow. 

While they’re still going on, Elsa turns to Mr Granger and asks. 

“How do the students who come here know they’re witches?”

Mr. Granger’s eyes go wide, and then he furrows his brow. 

“Well I suppose because their mother or fathers were witches.”

“But Annie told me you said that anyone could learn, just that we were old.”

“Well-” he says. He straightens his hat, “It’s hard to say really. Learning magic has always been something passed down. I could try to teach both of you some things- I know Agnes said she taught Annie a thing or two- but god, I don’t think I’ve ever taught anything someone who didn’t even know…”

His words start rambling off into bits that Elsa can’t follow, so she just waits. Eventually, they all grab hands and wink back to the farmhouse.

Mrs. Granger breaks off from them to check on the sheep and make sure they got back into the barn, and Mr Granger’s words start to make more sense to Elsa. 

“...I could show you that, if you think you’ll be here until the end of summer. What do you think, do you think all this war business will be done by then?”

Elsa stops in her tracks, and sort of stares at his words. He continues, and doesn’t show any sign that he realized she’s stopped. 

Elsa tilts her head towards the sky. The stars are out, and bright. Not a plane in sight. 

No planes, she thinks, no bombs. At least.


End file.
